


Blaze like Star-shine

by miyukijane



Series: An Unquenchable Flame: Cullen and Inquisitor Trevelyan [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Addiction, Angst, Angsty Cullen, Evelyn Trevelyan - Freeform, F/M, Falling In Love, Forbidden Love, Friendship to Love, POV Cullen Rutherford, Romance, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-26
Updated: 2017-12-23
Packaged: 2019-02-06 01:55:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12807048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miyukijane/pseuds/miyukijane
Summary: After the horrors suffered in Haven, Cullen looks forward to a new beginning with the Herald. Yet can he, in good conscience, put aside his duty to pursue a personal relationship? How can he ever be worthy of a woman like the Inquisitor, when he is so flawed? When the fate of all of Thedas stands between him and love, what choice does he have?(This is a continuation ofAn Unquenchable Flame! It's not necessary to read that work to follow this one, but it might help if you find yourself a bit confused!)Updated every Sunday!Thanks, as always, for reading! xoxo





	1. Skyhold

Cullen squinted up at the walls, lit with fire by the morning sun. The place was vast -- in desperate need of repair, to be sure, but its bones were good, as solid as if they’d been carved from the mountain itself. Perched on a steep cliff, they would be able to see forces coming from miles away.

They’d struggled to get here. The Herald, with Solas’s help, had brought them, although how either of them knew of this place remained a mystery. Once again he wondered who'd built it. The style was not elvish or dwarven, but solidly human, with Ferelden straight-forwardness. He’d felt immediately at home the moment he’d walked through the massive gates. 

She had led them safely here; but as soon as they’d arrived she took to her bed and slept for three days straight. Solas watched over her and did not let anyone else near. Cullen hadn’t spoken to her since. But the elf reassured them all that she was fine, that she was recovering, and she would rejoin them soon.

He walked up the stairs to the battlements, surveying the magnificent sweep of stone reaching skyward with satisfaction and pride. This -- they could really turn this into something special. A new home.

And a new start, too. Not only for the Inquisition, but perhaps for him. And for the Herald? For them both? He hadn't forgotten her light flirting when they'd been at Haven, the smiles she'd directed his way. When she'd almost died coming out of Haven, he'd promised to himself that he would take the plunge and tell her how he felt.

He'd been mulling over Varric's words since the attack on Haven.  _She might enjoy just being a regular woman once in a while, and not a bloody icon. I can’t imagine how exhausting that must be._

Was that possible, in Skyhold? Could they simply be a man and a woman, sharing a mug of ale, trading stories, flirting? Surely they both deserved some normalcy, a chance at happiness.

The cool mountain air ruffled his hair. His chest expanded with a deep breath. He smiled up at the clouds. His lyrium addiction seemed to be in control at last. He felt ready to hope again.

"Commander, you're needed in the courtyard." One of Leliana's people had sidled up to his shoulder. She pointed down the stairs, where Cassandra, Leliana, and Josephine stood in a circle, evidently conferring. They would need a proper war room. He’d see to it at once.

"Let's ask our Commander what he thinks," Josephine was saying as he approached them. “Commander, Leliana has had an interesting idea."

The spymaster's cool blue eyes turned to him. "We are at a critical junction now, Commander. We need a leader. A real one."

A similar thought had been growing in his mind. "An Inquisitor, you mean."

"Yes." Leliana exchanged a glance with Josephine. "Josie and I think it should be Lady Trevelyan."

He'd feared they were going to say that. 

"I agree," said Cassandra.

It made sense. She was the obvious choice. Who had risked her life and saved them all? Who had dared to make the difficult decisions, who had shouldered the burden? They’d all made sacrifices and contributions, but not like she had.

Still, had anyone considered what _she_ might want? "Have you discussed this with her?"

"Not yet," Josephine said. "We wanted to consult you first. Do you agree?"

“There is no one better suited to become the leader of the Inquisition in name as well as in deed,” he said cautiously. “But this is a grave responsibility to put on her, especially after all that she has suffered at Haven. She needs time to recuperate.”

"There is no time," Cassandra said, blunt as usual. "We must form a strategy against Corypheus. He could already be gathering a new army. We've seen what he is capable of. In order to make plans, we must formally choose a leader."

“She nearly died getting out of Haven,” he said, temper flaring. “Have you forgotten? Maker’s blood, she’s still in bed! And now you want to push her into a role that will demand everything she has to give?”

“Our situation is desperate,” said Leliana. “The people need someone visible in whom they can trust. A symbol. We will of course consider her health and safety.”

The Void you will, Cullen thought, but refrained from voicing it. He would try to remain cordial with the other advisors, if he could. But he would not let them reduce her to an icon for their own use. 

The ambassador said, “While everyone here is grateful that we've found Skyhold, there remains a great deal of fear and uncertainty. Declaring the Herald as the Inquisitor will give them hope."

And crush his own. If she became the Inquisitor, he would never be able to treat her as anything other than his superior, his commander. There’d be a wall between them that could never be breached. She would no more think of starting a relationship with him than he would with one of his lieutenants. And if by chance she _did_ think of it -- he was not completely oblivious, she had teased him with the possibility -- then it was his duty to resist and turn her aside. Such liaisons were bad for morale, bad for decision-making. There could be no distractions, for her or for him. The stakes were too high.

He looked up to see that all three women were looking at him. He cleared his throat. “We should not forget that she is only human, with human vulnerabilities. Consider what we are asking of her. It is an enormous task.” Perhaps impossible.

“Are you speaking as the Commander of the Inquisition forces, or as Cullen Rutherford, a man with feelings for the Herald?” Leliana tilted her head, her voice soft but cutting.

“As both, for they are one and the same,” he shot back. “Of course I have feelings for her. Feelings of gratitude, admiration, and friendship. We _all_ should. We owe her that, at least.”

“If not her,” said the ambassador, “then who?”

He had no answer for that. “All right,” he growled, feeling helpless. “Ask her if that’s what she wants.” There was still a chance she would refuse, he told himself. Please, Maker, let her refuse.

"There she is," Cassandra said. “I’ll speak to her.”

They all turned to look. She emerged from the watch tower, looking a bit dazed, but well and whole. It made Cullen's heart feel full when he remembered how ill she'd been when he'd found her in the snow. Now the color was back in her cheeks. She smiled questioningly at them, and he returned her smile, not without a stab of pain knowing what they were about to ask of her.

He and the others stepped away, leaving Cassandra to confer privately with the Herald.

He could not let his personal feelings get in the way of the logical next step for the Inquisition. He would not.

Besides, it had been a fool's dream.


	2. Their Inquisitor

He did his duty. He made sure all the soldiers accepted her as the Inquisitor. To be honest, it didn't take much. Leliana had been correct -- everyone was hungry for a leader to rally behind. Part of him -- a guilty part -- was glad it was her and not him. He couldn't bear that kind of scrutiny, those expectations.

Still, his heart cracked when she accepted the sword from Leliana. Until then, he’d let himself believe there was a chance she’d refuse. There was no going back now. When Cassandra cued him, he led the cheering among his troops. "Your leader. Your Herald." He drew his sword, saluted her. "Your Inquisitor!” The crowd roared their approval.

_Their_  Inquisitor, not his. It would be selfish to pretend otherwise.

He looked up at her. She was beautiful, a goddess, an avenging angel. She held the huge sword up with unwavering confidence, face alight with fierce determination. She did belong to them, she served them, she would protect them. She was what they all needed. It was right that she should be their leader.

And he would serve her, to the best of his ability.

#

He joined Leliana and Josephine as they followed the newly anointed Inquisitor into the main keep. The great hall was a mess -- wooden beams sat rotting on the stone floor, dust blanketed every surface -- but the sun shone through the magnificent stained glass windows, bathing the the room in jewel tones. Once again Cullen wondered who had built this place. It inspired awe. “So this is where it begins." 

"It began in the courtyard," Leliana corrected him. "This is where we turn that promise into action."

"But what do we do?" Josie asked. "We know nothing about this Corypheus except that he wanted your mark."

The Herald -- the Inquisitor, now -- turned to face them, but when she spoke, she looked at Cullen. Anxiety shadowed her face. “ _Could_ he strike us here? We can’t have a repeat of what happened at Haven.” 

He'd been wondering the same thing. He made himself sound more confident than he felt. “Skyhold has the bones to withstand Corypheus. After what you did with one trebuchet, I’d bet against direct attack.” 

"Someone out there must know something about Corypheus." The frustration was evident in her voice, and underneath it, he could hear her anxiety, too.

"Unless they saw him on the field," he said as gently as he could, "most will not even believe he exists."

The Inquisitor stayed silent and thoughtful as the advisors continued to explore ideas. The truth was, none of them really knew what to expect. In the absence of concrete information, all they had was was pure speculation.

Leliana sighed and echoed all their thoughts. "I would feel better if we knew more of what we were dealing with."

"I know someone who could help with that."

They all glanced up. Varric was silhouetted against the open door, walking towards them. Cullen frowned. He  _really_  needed to commandeer a proper war room.

The dwarf's voice held a note of apology. "Everyone acting all inspirational jogged my memory. So I -- I sent a message to an old friend.” He gave them a sheepish grin. “She's crossed paths with Corypheus before and may know more about what he's doing. She can help."

Cullen stared at Varric, eyes narrowed. There was something the dwarf was hiding. It had better not be something that would put the Inquisitor in danger.

Evelyn took it all in stride. "I'm always looking for new allies. Introduce me."

Varric’s manner was uncharacteristically tentative. "Parading around might cause a fuss. It's better if you meet privately, on the battlements. Trust me," he said with a shake of his head as he turned to go, “it's complicated."

"Well," Josephine said briskly, "we stand ready to move on both these concerns."

Cullen nodded. "On your order, Inquisitor."

Leliana said, "I know one thing. If Varric has brought who I think he has, Cassandra's going to kill him."

Evelyn raised an eyebrow at her. “Well, I can’t wait to meet her.”

#

Varric’s friend — and Cullen shared Leliana’s suspicions about who it might be — was still traveling to Skyhold and would arrive in a week or so. The weather this time of year made passage through the mountains difficult. 

He didn't see the Inquisitor for the rest of the day. She was busy, and so was he. He admitted to himself that he went out of his way to avoid her, taking dinner in his quarters and spending time inspecting the grounds, managing to be everywhere he thought she might not be. He wanted to give her space and time to accept her new role. 

He didn’t want to waver on his resolution of keeping polite, professional distance between them.

However, she sought him out the next morning as he stood at the base of the stairs to the main keep, reviewing the building plans. He glanced up to see her watching him with a wry smile, her eyes sparkling. 

As always when he saw her, his heart leapt. The day was cold but clear, bringing out the color in her dusky cheeks. Sunlight played across her tousled dark hair.

“Good morning, Commander,” she said.

A wave of gratitude and relief washed over him. Only a few weeks ago, he'd found her in the snow after the destruction of Haven. He'd carried her back to camp. No one had known if she would live through the night. 

They hadn’t had a chance to speak about what had happened at Haven. There was still pain there, regret mingled with the relief. He could see that she felt it too. “We set up as well as we could at Haven, but we could never prepare for an archdemon — or whatever that was. With some warning, we might have…”

She interrupted him gently, with a crooked smile. “Do you ever sleep?”

He would not let her be kind to him. He didn’t deserve it. “If Corypheus attacks again, we may not be able to withdraw… and I wouldn’t want to. We must be ready.” He glanced down at the plans on the work table before him. “Work on Skyhold is underway, guard rotations established. We should have everything on course within the week. We will not run from here.” 

Her voice was low. “How many were lost?”

“Most of our people made it to Skyhold. It could have been worse. Morale was low.” He straightened and looked her in the eye. “But it has improved greatly since you accepted the role of Inquisitor.” That could not be denied. He saw how his soldiers threw themselves into their work with renewed vigor since she accepted the sword.

"Inquisitor Trevelyan," she said slowly, testing it out. "I wasn't looking for another title. Sounds strange, doesn't it?"

He wished it did. But it fit all too well. "Not at all."

"Is that the official response?"

He chuckled. "I suppose it is. But it's the truth. We needed a leader. You have proven yourself." 

"Thank you, Cullen." She sounded sincere. Perhaps she also had moments of self-doubt, and needed reassurance. She was human, after all. That idea was strangely touching to him. 

A shadow crossed her face and she looked down at her feet for a moment. "Our escape from Haven... it was close." Her eyes searched his. "I'm relieved that you-- that so many made it out."

His heart pounded as if it would escape his ribs. It hadn’t been his imagination, then. He saw it clearly in her eyes, that she cared for him. She had feared that he had died. For a moment his chest expanded with joy and desire and hope. 

He tamped it down. Years of living in the Order had instilled iron discipline over his feelings, and it would be useful now.

His voice was level. “As am I."

The silence hung between them, waiting. She seemed to want something more, whether to say or hear, he wasn’t sure. He resolutely stayed silent. Let her walk on, let her forget the momentary pain of caring for someone who could never return her affections the way she deserved…

Yet just as she started to turn away, blast it, his heart betrayed him and he reached out to touch her arm to stop her. "You stayed behind. You could have--" He almost choked remembering how many hours he'd imagined her dead or dying.He collected himself. “I will not allow the events at Haven to happen again. You have my word." 

She seemed taken aback, but she accepted his pledge. “I appreciate that, Cullen.” Then she grinned, and it was like a ray of light breaking through the clouds. “But I’m not planning to let Corypheus attack us again.” Her tone was playful, but he didn’t miss the glint of steel in her eyes. 

He laughed, grateful that she broke the tension as she so often did, gently and with a smile. “No, nor I.” 

“Cullen, I—“ she stopped. He waited, holding his breath. He felt on the edge of a knife. All it would take was one word from her and he would be lost, drowning in his feelings for her. Her tone shifted. “I’m leaving today.”

“So soon? Are you not going to wait for Varric’s contact?”

She shook her head. “There’s too much to do. I’m worried about the soldiers missing in the Fallow Mire. And there are reports of rifts there, as well.”

Rifts that only she could close. Her time was so much in demand. Cullen wished he could do something more to help her.

“Scout Harding’s reports of the Fallow Mire are concerning,” he said. “I'll send Baines to the forward camp. She’s one of my best. Be careful, Inquisitor.”

“I will. You, too. I mean — I should let you get back to work.” She strode away.

Disappointment flooded him, not relief. He should be glad they hadn’t crossed a boundary. He’d conducted himself exactly as he should.

But in that moment, he was painfully aware of how much he'd wanted to crush her to his chest and hold her close.


	3. Old Friends and Enemies

He tried not to miss her.

The repairs to Skyhold proceeded briskly. Josephine had taken it upon herself to decorate the Inquisitor’s quarters personally. She’d ordered furnishings from her favorite vendors in Orlais and even talked of going to Val Royaux to pick out drapes.

For himself, he’d taken over the top of the watchtower that guarded the entrance to the fortress. There was a hole in the roof over his bed, but he told the work crews to leave it. At night he could see the stars, and the rising sun woke him in the morning. The fresh wind coming off the mountain was clean and pure and bracing, which he needed.

He still had the nightmares, worse than ever. The lyrium addiction wasn’t tamed at all. In fact, it was ramping up in intensity the more work he took on, and especially as the work began to center more on more on finding Samson. 

The man haunted him.

It had been a shock, seeing the former Templar at Corypheus’s side, and he supposed he hadn’t properly processed the impact and implications of that revelation. Samson had been once a decent man; or he’d thought so. He’d recommended that Samson be allowed back into the Order, believing that the man had a chance at redemption.

That everyone did.

But Samson’s fate threw his faith into disarray. Was it his addiction to lyrium that pushed him towards making the choices that culminated with his betrayal of the Templars? Or had he been flawed and corrupted from the very beginning? 

He needed to track him down. He needed answers. No matter how galling the truth might turn out to be.

#

Several days after the Inquisitor had left, Corporal Flynn knocked at his office door.

“Serah Tethras has returned, Commander, with a tall woman, a mage.”

So it was as he’d guessed. Varric had brought  _Hawke_. Marian Hawke, the legend, Champion of Kirkwall, the rebel mage Cassandra had been hunting for the past year. She’d been rumored to be dead or lost to the Deep Roads or Void knew what. Cullen had had a few run-ins with her in Kirkwall, and remembered her as a roguish woman with a flippant sense of humor and questionable taste in companions -- which explained her friendship with the dwarf. 

“Arrange quarters for her in the north watchtower. And tell the soldiers on watch there to be discreet about her presence.”

“Yes, ser.” 

“And ask Varric to come see me as soon as he can.”

He could not yet say definitively whether she posed a threat to the Inquisition or its leader. He wanted to believe not, but she was an unknown quantity, and it was his job to mitigate such risks.

The doubt that gnawed at him was the chance that Hawke had been corrupted herself. After all, Samson had let himself become a puppet for Corypheus. What if Hawke had as well?

#

Varric had not been very eager to meet with him, possibly anticipating what Cullen was going to say. He didn’t show up in the office until after dinner.

“I would have come sooner, but I was helping Leliana with some intelligence reports.” He regarded Cullen warily. “You look wilted, Curly.”

“I’m fine. You should have told me whom you were planning to bring.”

“And ruin the surprise?” Varric smiled, spreading his hands.

“You’ve noticed no signs of possession?”

“Shit. Is that what you think? That she’s been corrupted?”

“I have to ask, Varric. She’s an apostate mage.”

Varric scowled. “Go talk to her yourself. You’ll see she’s not.”

“I plan to.”

The dwarf sighed and rubbed his forehead with the back of his knuckles. “I know you and Hawke haven’t exactly gotten along back in Kirkwall, but she really is sincere. She wouldn’t have come if she wasn’t.”

Cullen nodded. “I’ll take that into consideration.”

“I understand why you’re worried. I guess I would be to. Just, you know, remember that they don’t call her the Champion for nothing.”

Cullen scowled. “What does that mean?”

“Try not to get beat up too badly,” Varric chuckled, shaking his head.

#

It was almost midnight when he walked the battlements to the north tower. The last time he’d seen Hawke was during the horrifying final battle against Knight-Commander Stannard, gone mad with red lyrium, and a demon-possessed First Enchanter Orsino. He’d let her and her party walk out of Kirkwall in recognition of their help in that battle, and so in theory there was no bad blood between them. Although he left the Order himself after those events, he’d been plagued by self-doubts for weeks about having let her go. She was an apostate, and her companions were criminals. Had he done the right thing?

He knocked on the door to the watchtower. She opened it and shot him a less-than-warm expression. Her short dark hair spiked up at the back, as if she’d been sleeping.

“Well, if it isn’t Knight-Captain Rutherford,” she said. Her icy eyes narrowed. “I’d heard you were part of this show. Come to arrest me?” She casually rested her right hand on her mage’s staff.

“Hello, Champion,” he said. He almost raised his hands to show he meant no harm. “I’m no longer a Templar.”

“So you’ve given up tormenting mages, have you?” 

“Your brother is a Templar, isn’t he?” Cullen returned, with soft venom.

“Against my advice,” she snapped. “It broke my mother’s heart.”

The tension between them bristled.

“I’m sorry,” Cullen said stiffly, recovering first. “I’d like to keep this meeting cordial, if we can.”

“What do you want, Commander?” She all but spat his title at him, but at least she stepped aside to let him in. 

His soldiers had done well preparing the tower for habitation. A fire burned low in the hearth, and two bedrolls had been set up. The place was swept clean. A table flanked by two chairs displayed the remains of a decent meal.

“Where’s Varric?” He sat on one of the chairs and rested his hands on his knees. In retrospect he should have left his sword behind. He didn’t want to appear threatening.

She remained on her feet, resting her lean frame against the wall with her staff in easy reach. “He’s drinking. I’d join him, but I’m not eager to let the entire Inquisition know I’m here.”

“Understood. I’d like to convey how grateful I am that you’ve come to help the Inquisition.” 

She gave a short, mirthless laugh. “I came for Varric and your Inquisitor. You can keep your gratitude.”

He sighed. They’d clashed often enough in Kirkwall. He’d supported Knight Commander Stannard until it was nearly too late, while Hawke had always mistrusted her. He’d disapproved of her predilection for working outside of the law.Moreover, he’d suspected that her involvement in the Kirkwall Rebellion was more than she let on. After all, it had been her friend Anders who had destroyed the chantry and everyone in it. Hawke had sworn that she'd known nothing of his plans; but Cullen had wondered, and if he was honest, he wondered still. 

And they’d differed over Samson. She’d argued for clemency. He didn’t blame her for that, but now he regretted having listened to her.

“You have my thanks nonetheless. If there’s any way that I can help you in return, I will do my best—“

She raised an eyebrow at him but said nothing.

He cleared his throat. The time for pleasantries had passed. “I must examine you to see if you’re possessed.”

She laughed, shaking her head. “You know, I thought you were arrogant before. If I’d only known how much more arrogant you’d get.” She crossed her arms. “The hell you will.”

His frayed temper unraveled. His hands balled into fists. “You didn’t see Samson marching at the head of Corypheus’s army. A man whom I once had counted friend! A man whom _you_ convinced me belonged back in the Order.”

“I’m here as a _favor_ ,” she snarled. “Samson isn’t my problem. He’s yours. If the Templar Order failed him, that’s on you.” She tilted her head. “Are you afraid you’re going to end up like Samson, a wasted addict, with no thought but how to get his next score?”

Cullen snapped. He sprang forward and grabbed the collar of her cloak, shoving her hard against the stone wall. She reached out with her left hand to grasp his throat while her right gripped her staff. Her lips started to form a spell. Using all the strength he had, for it had been several months since he’d used his Templar abilities, he Silenced her.

They stood locked in combat, eye to eye, trembling.

Her hand tightened around his throat, choking him. “So, you’ve left the Order, but you still exploit Templar powers.”

“You could have let Corypheus go,” he grated. He pressed her back against the wall, seeking to break her iron grip without disrupting his spell. “He could have corrupted you and told you to let him go.”

“He didn’t.”

Cullen met her steely gaze. “He could be controlling you now, telling you to lead the Inquisitor into a trap.”

“I wouldn’t do that. You have to trust me.” Her voice was soft. Her ice-blue eyes stared into his. The heat of their rage pulsed between them.

“How can I?” he grated. His mouth was dry, his throat hoarse.

She growled, “I don’t know.”

Something twanged inside him like a taut bowstring. Suddenly, as if they both shared a thought in the same instant, their mouths met in a savage kiss.

He staggered back, shocked at the contact, and his Silence compulsion broke apart, shattering like a fragile vessel dashed to the ground. 

Hawke looked as startled as he at what had happened, but recovered first. “I shouldn’t have been able to break your Silence so easily. Perhaps you’re not fully a Templar after all.”

He gasped for breath, half-expecting her to freeze his limbs or paralyze him, but she only watched him with eyes the color of an alpine lake, wary as a panther. His head swam. After expending the power necessary for the Silence spell, the need for lyrium screamed inside him. His blood pounded, deafening him. Was it desire or anxiety that coursed through his veins now?

“Do you want me, Rutherford?” she asked softly. “You’re torn up about mages, aren’t you? Wasn’t there a mage you lusted after, in the Ferelden Circle Tower? Did she reject you, and make you hate mages? Made you distrustful them?”

“I’m not that man anymore,” he said, gasping for breath. He was too hot, too cold. His knees weak. 

“Are you sure?” But she stayed put, didn’t advance. She left her staff propped up against the wall. She wasn’t going to attack, then. 

He stepped to the table and poured a cup of wine from the half-full carafe. He gulped it down. He managed to attain calm once more. “I don’t mean you harm, Hawke. And I understand why you might… despise me. I was not a good man in Kirkwall. I hope I am a better one now.”

Her eyes appraised him. “Perhaps you are.” A hint of a smile lit her face. “The old Cullen would probably have tried to put a sword through me for what I just did.”

He drew in a ragged breath. “I’m sorry.”

“For kissing me?” Her smile reached her eyes. “That was the only part I liked.” She sighed in mock-tragic fashion. “If only I didn’t always fall for the wrong sort.”

Was she _flirting_ with him? Utterly taken aback, he managed, “I thought you were with the pirate woman.”

“Isabella? Yes, we’re together. She’d kill me if she weren’t invited to join us.” She winked.

Was she suggesting…? Maker. He didn’t want that.

Did he?

_It would be a way to get over Evelyn. The Inquisitor._

Was that a rational thought or the lyrium addiction infecting his blood? He shook his head to try to clear it.

Hawke took a step forward. “I can help you.” Her voice was shaded with genuine concern now. 

He drew back. “I don’t need—“

“Not like that.” She offered her hand. “If you’ll let me?”

“What will you do?” His breath was ragged and dark spots clouded his vision. 

In answer, she took his hand and closed her eyes. Warmth caressed his arm, reaching up through his skin to his chest, his heart. His breathing eased. His mind calmed. _Magic._ He shuddered, even though the contact felt so good, so welcome.

She dropped his hand. “Still suspicious of me, are you?”

“It’s not you, it’s…”

“I know. You despise mages. And magic. Even when it can heal you.” She turned away to toss another log into the dying fire. “Once a mage-hunter, always a mage-hunter.” She kicked the fine dust of scattered ashes back into the hearth,

Was she right? He’d left the Order; but perhaps the Order never fully released you.

He gathered the shreds of his composure and made it to the door without stumbling. “I acted unprofessionally in many respects, and for that, I apologize. I do appreciate your efforts to help us. All I ask is that you protect the Inquisitor to the best of your ability.”

Her eyes glinted in the firelight. “If it’s any consolation, I’m not planning to get her killed. I’m not a complete scoundrel. I know what’s at stake.” Her hand gripped her staff so her knuckles turned while. “Believe me, no one wants Corypheus dead more than I do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was writing the scene between Hawke and Cullen and suddenly they decided to kiss! I was shocked but somehow it felt right and I just went with it. I have no idea where that came from... but it makes me think I need to explore that more in another fic soon!


	4. Addiction

 Cullen barely made it back to his quarters. It was all he could do to stay upright. His vision clouded around the edges as if he would black out, and if it hadn’t been a straight line from Hawke’s quarters to his, he would have gotten lost.

The apostate mage’s words resounded in his head.  _Are you afraid you’re going to end up like Samson, a wasted addict, with no thought but how to get his next score?_

He was afraid. The fear haunted his every move.

_Samson._ A vision of his face swam before his eyes — Samson’s face pale and covered in a sheen of unhealthy sweat, his eyes feverish. 

Samson was the reason he’d decided to reject his dependency on lyrium. The poor man had spent time in the streets of Lowtown, stealing and begging coin to spend on lyrium. Cullen had pitied him, and had also vowed that that would never be how he’d end up himself. For that, at least, he supposed he should be grateful. In a strange way, Samson had set him on this path.

But was it the right path? He couldn’t use his abilities anymore. He wasn’t as strong. His mind wasn’t as clear. If he’d still been in the Order, he would never have succumbed to Hawke as he just had. What had possessed him?

He shut the door to his office and leaned against it, unable to take another step. He slid to the floor and dropped his head in his trembling hands. He was going to throw up.

He fell asleep like that, fully clothed on the floor, fighting for each breath like a dying dog.

#

He woke to a pounding headache, ill and weak. He staggered to his feet and laboriously climbed the ladder to his private quarters, where he performed a perfunctory wash in the basin. The cold water had a salutary effect, dissipating some of the fog.

He stared down at his trembling hands. Did he have a flaw inside him, too? Did everyone? He wanted to throw out the lyrium vials, but he couldn’t. He admitted to himself that he was afraid. What if he failed the Inquisitor because he was weakened by his withdrawal symptoms? He managed to hide it well enough when he was with others; but in the privacy of his study, he sometimes sat shaking, sweating and cold at once. Cassandra was the only one who knew — well, he supposed Leliana must know too, although he’d never told her, and she never gave him a hint that she did.

He changed his shirt and put his armor back on. It felt twice as heavy as usual. All he wanted was to fall into a dreamless sleep for days. But he had duties, meetings, responsibilities.

Hawke was nowhere to be seen, and for that, he was grateful. She hadn’t seemed unduly upset by the events of last night, but he would not blame her if she’d been furious. He’d crossed a line. Several lines, both professional and personal.

He couldn’t entirely blame the lyrium for that.

He threw himself into his work with an energy born of desperation. Two or three times that day, without his being conscious of it, he caught himself staring at a vial of shining blue liquid in his hand. Each time he forced himself to put it back in the box.

In retrospect, it was better that the Inquisitor was gone. He couldn’t face her like this.

How could he have kissed  _Hawke_? He passed a hand over his eyes as if he could wipe that memory away. And yet it had been — exciting. He couldn’t deny that desire was there.

“What did you do to Hawke?”

Cullen winced. It was Varric, barreling into his office without knocking, mouth turned down in displeasure.

“I’m sorry, ser,” said Flynn, red-faced and trotting in after the dwarf. “I told him you weren’t to be disturbed.”

“It’s all right.” Cullen waved Flynn away.

Varric crossed his arms. “Well?”

“I’ve already apologized to her,” he said. “I regret it.”

“I’ve never seen her laugh so hard.”

_Laugh?_ What was Varric talking about? “I beg your pardon?”

Varric was grinning at him now. “Did you think she’d be offended? If she had, you wouldn’t be sitting there with all your limbs intact.” He shook his head. “I just never imagined she’d want to get frisky with  _you_ , of all people! No offense.”

Cullen could feel the heat rising on the back of his neck. “Nothing happened!”

“Nothing, huh? You can’t fool me, Curly. You’re blushing harder than a choir-boy ata Satinalia orgy.”

“I kissed her, that’s all. It was an accident.”

“Oh yeah? She says  _she_  kissed  _you_. What’s more, you  _liked_  it.”

A jolt of lightening shivered through him at the flash of memory of her lips on his. “It won’t happen again.”

Varric ignored him. “I mean, I get the whole ‘big strapping Templar’ thing, but you’re as bad as Sebastian for following the rules, and Hawke’s all about bending them. Still, it’s not for me to judge, Curly. Whatever makes you happy.” He chuckled.

“I’m not planning to start a relationship with Hawke.” His jaw was so clenched, it hurt.

“Who said anything about a relationship? Anyway, beyond giving you a hard time about it, which is always fun, I also came to see if you wanted to join me and Hawke for dinner.”

The dwarf must be mad. Why in the Void would he think Cullen would want to have dinner with him and  _Hawke_? “No.” Then he added, “Thank you.”

“Come on. You can put whatever this is to rest, let bygones be bygones. It’ll make it less awkward between you two, I promise.”

Cullen was fairly certain that ship had sailed. Whatever happened, it would always be awkward between them, and not only because of the kiss. _Once a mage-hunter, always a mage-hunter._  “Why is it so important to you that I socialize with you and Hawke?”

“Because we’re friends,” Varric said with an unexpectedly open-hearted smile. “And having dinner together is what friends do.”

Friends? Varric considered him a friend? A bit bewildered, he shook his head. “Another time, perhaps.”

#

He was not fit for company. He felt drained and empty, a dry shell.

It wasn’t working. He couldn’t wean himself off lyrium. It was foolish to try. He reached once again for the vial.

_No._  He slammed the desk drawer shut and stood up. There was only one person he could talk to.

By now the sun was low in the sky, streaking the clouds orange and crimson. Winter encroached and every day night fell a few breaths earlier. He shivered as the wind bit through to his bones.

In spite of the failing light, Cassandra was in the training yard, moving gracefully through her exercises. Watching her, his muscles ached. He felt twitchy. After a few moments he called out to her. “Mind if I join you?”

She paused, and nodded with a hint of a smile. “I’d welcome the practice, Commander.”

He threw off his cloak, picked out a shield, and drew his sword.

They sparred. They were well-matched, but Cassandra had the advantage. She was in better practice and shape than he. She accompanied the Inquisitor often into the field, while Cullen had spent the last few weeks focused more on logistics and organization than on keeping up his swordplay skills.

They sparred to three hits. When Cassandra scored the final touch — a controlled tap against his thigh, where she’d managed to slip past his guard — they stopped. He unbuckled his armor to ease the stiffness a bit. His breath steamed in the chill air.

“Well-fought, Commander,” Cassandra said, tossing him a cloth to wipe his face. “You are leaving your guard open when you lunge.”

“You reminded me of that,” he said, smiling. He rubbed the spot on his thigh where her sword had made contact. “You definitely left a bruise.”

She loosed her breastplate as well and came to sit on the bench next to him. “You look pale. You have not been sleeping well, I think.”

He glanced around the training yard. It was now twilight, and no one was near. Everyone else had gone to their meals or the Herald’s Rest. “I’ve been better,” he admitted.

“You push yourself too hard. You must give yourself time, Cullen. Have you spoken to any healing mages about it?”

_Only Hawke._  “I can’t make myself dependent on their help. They’re needed elsewhere. And it would not be good for morale if word got out that their Commander was less than fully competent.”

“There is no question of your competency. Lyrium addiction, left untreated, can cause illness and death.” The Seeker frowned at him. “You are courting disaster by not taking better care of yourself. If you should fall ill, or die, what would happen to everything we’ve built?”

“You think I should take lyrium again?”

“No, that is not what I said. I respect your decision, and I support it. But you must recognize the truth of what you are doing. You are not as powerful as you were when you took lyrium, Cullen. That is simply a fact. You must adjust your expectations of yourself accordingly. And get some sleep.”

“I hate that I have less to give the Inquisition now.”

She shook her head. “On the contrary, you have much more. Your full self, unaltered, independent of the lyrium leash.” She stood and fetched them each a cup of water. “The Seekers do not take lyrium, as you know; instead we engage in deep meditation to access our powers. I could show you, if you like. It might help.”

“I would like that. Thank you.” He gulped down the water. He was suddenly reminded of his thirst. The lyrium withdraw playing havoc with his senses, and sometimes he would forget he was hungry or thirsty.

“Some Seekers take a vow of chastity,” she went on. “It can help with the focus and atunement of the body’s energies.”

He was glad the darkness obscured his expression, for he didn’t know how to react to this. “I see. Some Templars do the same.”

“One needs extraordinary clarity of mind for an endeavor like this.” She pursed her lips slightly, as if considering what to say next. Her voice was gentle. “I remember your reaction after Haven, Cullen. I wonder if … if such a thing happens again, I wonder if it will be too much.”

He wanted to protest that he would handle it. But she was right. He’d almost fallen apart when the Herald had been lost. He could not afford to risk that again. “I wonder that as well.” He stood up and faced the Seeker. “I want you to watch me for signs that I am no longer fit for command.”

She rose to her feet, startled. “What do you mean? I cannot—“

“You can. You’re the only one who can. I won’t let my disease threaten the Inquisition. Say the word, and I will step aside. You will become the Commander.”

“Cullen, what you’re asking me is—“

“I know exactly what it is. Please, Cassandra. You must do this for me. For the Inquisition. You’re the only one I trust.”

She held his gaze for a long moment and then nodded. “Very well. I will do as you ask. Does the Inquisitor know?”

“No.”

“I think she should.”

“Yes.” His strength seemed to rush out of him then, and he placed his hand against the solid stone wall for support. “She should. I will tell her. I thought I could cure myself before this, and that it would no longer be an issue.”

“I think she will be sympathetic,” she said quietly.

He didn’t want her sympathy. He didn’t want her pity. He didn’t want her to know how weak he was, how flawed.

“Trust yourself, Cullen. You are stronger than you know.”

“Thank you,” he said, but the words sounded hollow.


	5. Satinalia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Happy Satinalia!

 The Inquisitor had been in the Fallow Mire for two weeks. She continued her practice of adding handwritten notes to the bottom of the official reports from the field. Notes that she knew Cullen would see.

_The Fallow Mire smells terrible. I’ll need to bathe for a week to get the stench off my skin. Maker’s eyes, if I never see an undead again it will be too soon. You’re getting exercise, yes? You mustn’t remain trapped in your office all day._

He remembered Cassandra’s advice about focus and didn’t return any notes.

_I’ll be back for Satinalia_ , she wrote in the next report. _I’ve been wondering what gifts to give everyone. What would you say to a puppy? Everyone likes puppies._

 #

He had to find a way to tell her he wasn’t receptive to her advances without hurting her or embarrassing them both. Since his meeting with Cassandra he’d been employing her meditation techniques every morning and every night, praying at the chapel. It helped. As long as he could keep thoughts of the Inquisitor out of his head, at least.

Surely her feelings for him were not deep enough that his rebuff would wound her. He’d had the impression at Haven that she flirted with everyone, even Dorian, who’d made no secret of his preferences. She was just playful that way. She’d take his deflection in stride. As she did everything.

The thought both comforted him and stung his pride a little.

# 

He couldn’t quite bring himself to have dinner with Hawke, but he did have a drink with Varric one evening.  Cullen had to admit that he enjoyed the experience, over all. Varric was amusing and had a trove of stories up his sleeve that he told in a skillful, dramatic fashion. The dwarf tactfully maneuvered their conversation around the events at Kirkwall during which they’d both seen more than their share of pain and destruction.

But one goblet of wine was enough. Any more and he could sense that the lyrium addiction would seep into his mind and limbs and take hold. “Thank you for this, Varric. I should get back to work now.”

“It’s almost midnight! You’re going to give yourself grey hairs.”

Cullen smiled. “No more than you are, if you stay up carousing.”

“You deserve a night off. What about a game of Wicked Grace?”

“Not tonight.”

“So you’d play sometime? What if I got the Inquisitor to join us?”

“You’re that eager to lose to me?” 

Varric chuckled. “Let’s just say I have a feeling it would be one epic game.”

A thought occurred to Cullen, and he never would have asked if his inhibitions hadn’t been somewhat lowered by the wine. “You’re close with the Inquisitor, aren’t you?”

“We’ve gotten to know each other pretty well, yeah.”

“Has she… that is, is she seeing anyone?”

“I was wondering when you’d get around to that,” Varric said with a smirk. “She and Sera had a bit of a thing going.”

_Sera?_ He stared at the dwarf, dumbfounded. “You’re joking.”

Varric’s grin widened. “I’m not. You’ve heard the phrase ‘opposites attract’? You should, because that would describe you and — you know.” He waggled his eyebrows suggestively and Cullen frowned in as repressive a manner as he could. Varric shrugged. “That’s my read on what was happening there. But now Sera and Lace seem friendly—“

“Lace?”

“You know. Scout Harding.”

Cullen shook his head. He was unaware that these romantic entanglements were happening all around him, right under his nose. What else did he not know about?

Varric continued, “But these days, our Inquisitor gets into her tent all alone and stays there all night.” He winked.

“I have no right to inquire, of course,” Cullen stammered, feeling the need to explain. “She can do what she wants. I was simply wondering if she’d formed an attachment.” 

Varric waved him off. “I know, I know. You’re just curious. I get it. I won’t say anything to her or anyone else about this conversation.”

“I — I see. Thank you.” He stood up, gathering what scraps of dignity he could salvage. “Er, my regards to the Champion.”

Varric’s grin was huge. “Oh, I’ll be sure to let her know.”

#

The Inquisitor and her party returned a week before Satinalia, weary and smelling of the bog. Solas immediately ordered a hot bath that he stayed in for two hours. Blackwalljoined the Iron Bull and his Chargers for rounds of ale and tale-telling.

The Inquisitor came to see him in his office.

“Inquisitor.” He stood to greet her. He hadn’t been expecting her to visit him so soon. “Welcome back.”

She strolled in. “So, this is where you’ve been hiding.” Hands on hips, she surveyed the room. “I like it. It’s very… tidy.”

“I’m still settling in,” he said. He straightened the papers on his desk. 

“Cullen, are you avoiding me?” She teased him, but her eyes held a question. 

“I — perhaps a little,” he admitted. “I didn’t want to bother you with concerns. You must be exhausted after your trip. We can discuss everything we need to in the War Room.”

She raised an eyebrow at him. “Not _everything_ , surely?” Without waiting for a reply, she perched herself on the corner of his desk. “The Fallow Mire was not a very pleasant place, that’s true. I’d certainly be happy to never go there again. Though, you know how it is, there’s always something we forgot to take care of. How are you holding up?”

“I’m fine,” he said. 

She squinted at him playfully. “Now, why don’t I believe that? Didn’t I tell you to take care of yourself?”

“Is that an order, Inquisitor?”

“Do I need to make it one?” The smile tugged at the corner of her mouth, revealing the dimple in her right cheek. Maker’s breath. 

He looked away, frowning down at Leliana’s report that was on the top of the stack of documents. “Did you need something, Inquisitor?”

“Just checking on my Commander,” she said gently. “Satinalia starts in one week and I need you fully rested before we indulge ourselves in several days of merriment. And that _is_ an order.”

Clarity, he reminded himself. Control. That was the only way to cleanse himself of his disease. “I doubt I shall have time for any festivities,” he said, hating how stiff he sounded. Cassandra was right. Perhaps once she understood his flaw, she would recognize how impossible it was for him to return her affections. He tried for a rueful smile, to keep the tone from getting too intense. “The Inquisition’s enemies do not take holidays.”

She smiled and came around the desk to stand next to him. “I admire your commitment, I truly do. But surely you can take a break! It’s Satinalia! And who knows? You might even enjoy it. I know I would.”

She folded her arms, leaning back against the desk, and cocked her head with an invitation sparkling in her eyes. There was no mistaking it and no ignoring it. He imagined wrapping his arms around her and kissing her, pushing her back against the desk, pressing his body against hers…

He broke eye contact. He had to be firm, or he would never beat this debilitating disease, this flaw inside himself.“I am sorry,” he said. “My duties must take priority.”

The smile faded from her eyes although her expression remained politely friendly. “Oh. Yes, of course. I’m sorry to bother you.” She nodded at him and walked to the door. 

He almost called out to her, but bit it back and tried to refocus on the texts in front of him.

She turned at the door, one hand on the doorframe, half in and half out of his study. “But if you change your mind, you know where I’ll be.”

She flashed him a grin and disappeared.

#

When he’d been a child, Satinalia had been his favorite time of year. Mia was a genius at coming up with games to play and perfect gifts for everyone. One year she’d given him a carved wooden mabari that fit in the palm of his hand. He still had it.

#

On the first night of Satinalia, Skyhold held a celebration. Josephine had outdone herself with festive decorations, lighting the great hall and the courtyards with candles and mage lights and garlands of colored paper cut to look like flowers and stars. All soldiers off duty got a double ration of ale, and in spite of the cold, the merriment spilled out of Herald’s Rest and into the training yard and courtyard. Cullen avoided the carousing. He couldn’t help noticing that the Inquisitor cheerfully joined in, at ease as usual. She had such grace and composure, equally at home with the Chargers, the soldiers, Lady Vivienne’s guests, even Solas and Cole.

For the final night, Josephine planned a state dinner with their allies. She had long tables set up in the great hall where they would dine.

“You must come,” Josephine told him. “We cannot hold a dinner without the Commander of our forces present.”

“Certainly you can. I won’t add anything to the festivities. I can’t make conversation, I don’t know how to flatter nobles, and I don’t dance or sing or play Wicked Grace.”

“Then sit and look pretty,” said Leliana, gliding into the ambassador’s office. “Josie’s right. We all need to be there. It’s an important, ceremonial festival, the first Satinalia at Skyhold. We’ll make it mean something.”

“It’ll mean nothing if our defenses are ill-prepared.”

“What are we arguing about now?” The Inquisitor entered. “I thought we were having a war council.” 

“We’re on our way there now,” Leliana said. “Inquisitor, perhaps you can convince our Commander that he can’t miss the Satinalia party.”

She studiously avoided looking at Cullen. “He’s already told me he plans to be absent,” she said briskly. “If that’s his decision, let’s not waste time convincing him otherwise. Shall we move on?” She headed to the war room without a backwards glance.

Josie looked from the Inquisitor to Cullen and back. “But—“

Leliana jostled her lightly with her elbow. “Let’s not get in the middle of whatever that is.”

Josie looked at him, eyes entreating. “Please, Commander. We must present a united front.”

He cleared his throat, embarrassed. He was making all of this unnecessarily awkward. He could stand one dinner. “If you think it important, of course I will attend.”

Josie looked grateful, Leliana thoughtful. “Thank you,” said the ambassador.

#

At the war table, they reviewed the latest reports from Crestwood. 

A tiny frown creased the skin between the Inquisitor’s eyebrows. “I don’t like this rumor that there’s a rift in the bottom of the lake. How on earth am I going to get to that?”

The spymaster put in, “According to Charter, there are also well-established bandits. If you have time, you could help clear the roads for our traders.”

“Lovely,” the Inquisitor murmured. “When would you like me to go?” She looked bone-tired, and Cullen felt the same twinge of guilt he always felt when they asked her to do yet another impossible task.

“There is a fortress there, Caer Bronach,” he said, trying to maintain a tone of optimism. “The bandits are installed there now. If you are able to capture it, it could become an effective base of operations in the area.”

The Inquisitor lifted her hands in a gesture of exasperation. “Oh, certainly. I’ll just knock on the front door and see if they’ll have me over for tea.”

Cullen chuckled. “You’ll think of something, I’m sure.”

Leliana looked at the Ambassador. “Now, we should get ready for the party. Poor Josie looks ready to burst with anxiety that we’ll be too late to be fashionable.”

#

The dinner was as dull as he’d feared, but he did his duty and smiled at what he thought were the right times. He didn’t know who half the guests were — they seemed a mix of Orlesian nobility and some Fereldan. After the sweets were handed out, he judged it was not too rude to excuse himself. 

“I’m afraid duty calls,” he murmured to his dining companion, a richly scented lady. As he stood he caught the Inquisitor’s eye and bowed farewell to her.

He stepped outside into a flurry of snow, leaving the cheerful chatter and clink of silver goblets behind him. The temperature had dropped. He pulled his cloak more tightly around his neck and walked swiftly towards his quarters. 

“Cullen!” The Inquisitor jogged down the stairs to catch up. “Leaving already?”

He turned. Her nose and cheeks were charmingly flushed from the cold and snowflakes caught in her hair like a net of fine diamonds. Maker, she’d never looked so beautiful.

He cleared his throat. “Yes, I’m afraid so.”

She was all smiles. Apparently she’d forgiven their coolness in the war room. “I’ll walk you to your quarters.”

“No,” he said abruptly. “That is, it’s too cold, Inquisitor. Stay here, enjoy the party.”

She looked at him quizzically. “Is something wrong?”

So many things. “No. I’m just a bit tired, that’s all. We’re close to finding Samson’s base and I want to have good news for you when you return from Crestwood.”

“I see. Thank you.”

He waited a beat, expecting a dismissal. 

Her stormy eyes held him rooted in place while the wind kicked up gusts of light snow around them. “Cullen, are you angry with me? Did I — offend you?”

“Maker, no!” He almost reached out to touch her shoulder but caught himself in time. Clarity. Control. Calm. “I must remain focused on our mission,” he said, his voice husky with desperation. “And you must allow me to. I should like us to be friends.”

“I thought—“ She stopped. Her eyes glimmered. “Only friends, then?”

He forced himself to say it. “You asked me once whether I had taken vows of… purity. I hadn’t then. I have now.”

“I don’t understand.” Her eyebrows knitted. “Why now?”

“I have my reasons. I prefer not to discuss at the moment.” 

She seemed about to protest, but broke off and bit her lip. “Of course. Good night, Commander.”

She turned and ran back up the stairs to the great hall, back into the warmth and light. He walked out into darkness and snow.


End file.
